Liking Faith
by MakoRain
Summary: Faith may be the toughest Slayer to ever live but what if she let someone in for a change? SpikexFaith. Oneshot. Rated for minor lemon suggestions.


A/N: I've always enjoyed Buffy the Vampire Slayer but I've never written about it before. I was asked why this was at about the same time my friend needed a story about a television show. This is my first and only attempt as of yet to try and delve into the world of the Slayers. Feedback is always appreciated.

Disclaimer: I own nothing BVS cuz if I did, Spike would be mine...all mine evil laughter

**"Liking Faith" **

By MakoRain

The room is quiet, deafening in its darkness, but not suffocating. The screams and chaos of earlier are almost forgotten, the only remnants are scattered about the room in the form of ripped clothes and broken furniture. Maybe we got too carried away. The bed would sure think so with the wooden frame splintered from the rough and hot sex it had seen. I can't help laughing deep and low in my throat, apologizing to the battered headboard. What can I say? I like it hot and when I have to hold onto something for dear life you better know I'm pleased. My man knows how to do me right and he'll know by the way I scream his name.

I roll closer to him, forgetting the mess and facing his perfect sharp features. The dark has always claimed him and he clings to the persona of his once all powerful vampire stature, Spike, the black jeans and t-shirt covered with the leather duster coat removed in a frenzy and thrown in a corner to reveal the gleaming alabaster skin underneath to my touch, my taste, my ways of knowing how to drive him crazy with my body to make his eyes roll into the back of his skull. He lets me know where to go and how much he wants me not with loud screams like mine but with low gravely appraisal hushed barely above a whisper to the room but I know, I always know what he needs and fulfill to his wildest imagination. Spike's chest is cold under my cheek as I put my ear to it, listening for what, I don't know. It's always funny sleeping next to the undead. You'd think by now I would be used to not hearing the heart beat of someone next to me, not breathing deep in sleep.

The brightness of his hair glows in the darkness and my hand finds its way through those mussed strands, no longer kept neat and tidy after all the action from before. I'm not one for the sappy business but his cheekbones are to die for when he's smiling in his sleep. I wonder what he's dreaming about? From the goofy grin on his face, I don't think it's me. I don't make people smile like that. I make people cringe, avoid, go running the other way when I walk in. Sometimes I keep these memories and cherish them, knowing all of the badass kicking I did to protect the world and then to even crazy it up a bit. I sure as hell wasn't always on the right side but I've put those days behind me, frowning at the images of it all. It's too much to think about and I can't or I'll go back to where they lock up people like me and throw away the key, recovered or not. I don't notice my nails gripping into Spike's side until he stirs and I lift my head to see him groggy eyed looking my way.

"Mmm, love, aren't you tired from earlier?"

His words are laced with sleep and I smile at his bed head, dimming it down when he looks my way. I don't want him to think I like watching him in his sleep or anything creeperish like that. I let go of his skin, covered with my nail and teeth marks enough already as it is and lean on my elbow, not looking at him but still keeping my focus near him. He has that uncanny sense of knowing when something's wrong with me and maybe, just maybe, if I pretend to ignore it he won't notice. Fat chance.

"You alright, pet?"

He leans up from laying on his back, the mattress complaining with a groan of springs to the unwanted movement. Maybe it's time to get a new bed or we're going to ride this one until it breaks completely. Cold fingers brush my cheek and I can't help turning into the touch instead of away like I would have instinctively done months ago.

"I told you not to call me that." I usually snarl these words but now it's just more of a reminder, not harsh but not caring either; more like admitting defeat half-heartedly.

"Right, love." I stifle a groan even as my heart thumps louder in my chest. I hate it when it does that to something he says or does. Stupid heart.

"Not that one too." He's been testing nicknames on me for as long as I can remember coming together with him and each one is something I've heard him call Dru or worse, Buffy. I don't want a recycled nickname.

"Of course, Faith." Faith. I like the way it rolls off of his tongue, his British accent making it sound special, unique, loved. I let my mouth curve on one side in a small smile as he leans forward and kisses me, a light brush of cold lips to my warm rose ones. It's been hard getting under control to react to this small act of affection with warmth, joy, even love maybe. Love. There's something new to think about.

"I like Faith." I pull away to say, looking into his dark eyes and curving into the touch of his hand grazing my back.

"As do I." He pulls me to him, kissing my forehead and resting back against the pillows, holding me close.

"Now get some sleep, love. Faith."

Faith. I really do like Faith. It's good to know someone else does to.

_As it was meant to be._

The End.


End file.
